stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Bloodfiends? What a dark and ominous name. Again, the glaive flashed in the sunlight, the precise and controlled sweep indicating how easily she could've killed both pony and man—the danger her posture and grace exuded. It seemed an apt name for a creature such as Elyna, but Ascended implied something else entirely.
Perhaps.. perhaps whatever force had pulled them here had searched for a world similar to Caido, looking for a pattern match. Bloodfiend to Ascended. But what about the Attuned? Abandoned? Accepted? He folded the questions into the corner of his mind. He'd ask some other time about Northaven, if there were shape-changers and magic-wielders and those beloved by the Gods.
"You are not responsible for this," he said, gentle but firm, his blue gaze earnest as it searched for Remi's pale ones. The fingers on his nearest hand twitched, wanting to lay themselves against Remi's thigh or knee to further lend weight to his point, but whatever reaction it was that occasionally sent spikes through his system also prohibited him from actually touching the man. "Things have been this way for so long that no one really believes it'll change anymore. You neither did this nor chose to come here."
There were always those who strove to get out of here, into some vast unknown nobody knew what it was anymore, or could even picture, but.. never in Rory's lifetime had so many concentrated efforts been made, never had so many scoured the Atheneum for information and clues. He suspected it was the free souls of the Outlanders chafing against this cage the Naturals had all been born into.
Was their region truly so barren and bad, that they so desperately wanted out?
As Remi laughed Rory's mouth curled into a smile, and after a moment he chuckled. He had been sincere—there was so much here that could kill you, so much Remi's lack of attention to his surroundings reminded Rory of how dangerous it could be—but it had also been his way of saying that he cared. He didn't want Remi to die.
"Only one question comes to mind."
"Mmh?" Rory arched one brow quizzically, wondering what it could be.
"Do you think we'll ever make it out? Or...should we be content with this?"
Again: their cage. Rory felt his pulse slow, his breathing stop, his face freeze into a complicated expression. The cracked, dry earth, the vast sky, the jutting spire, the mutated creatures, his lean, thin, shaggy goats; it was his entire world. He knew nothing else. He had seen the quality of Isla's gloves and garb and marveled.
Was something like that out in Caido, too? After a moment, Rory cast his eyes down, once again wondering if it was truly so bad here.
"I don't know," he said, quiet and sad, part of his heart light and elated and wishing to fly beyond the borders and see what was out there—the other part scared and dark and wanting only that which was familiar, safe, home. "It's been three hundred years. I think very few of us expect to get out." The phrasing felt like betrayal. He sighed. "It hasn't stopped us from trying, though, so I guess it shouldn't stop you either."
Perhaps.. perhaps whatever force had pulled them here had searched for a world similar to Caido, looking for a pattern match. Bloodfiend to Ascended. But what about the Attuned? Abandoned? Accepted? He folded the questions into the corner of his mind. He'd ask some other time about Northaven, if there were shape-changers and magic-wielders and those beloved by the Gods.
"You are not responsible for this," he said, gentle but firm, his blue gaze earnest as it searched for Remi's pale ones. The fingers on his nearest hand twitched, wanting to lay themselves against Remi's thigh or knee to further lend weight to his point, but whatever reaction it was that occasionally sent spikes through his system also prohibited him from actually touching the man. "Things have been this way for so long that no one really believes it'll change anymore. You neither did this nor chose to come here."
There were always those who strove to get out of here, into some vast unknown nobody knew what it was anymore, or could even picture, but.. never in Rory's lifetime had so many concentrated efforts been made, never had so many scoured the Atheneum for information and clues. He suspected it was the free souls of the Outlanders chafing against this cage the Naturals had all been born into.
Was their region truly so barren and bad, that they so desperately wanted out?
As Remi laughed Rory's mouth curled into a smile, and after a moment he chuckled. He had been sincere—there was so much here that could kill you, so much Remi's lack of attention to his surroundings reminded Rory of how dangerous it could be—but it had also been his way of saying that he cared. He didn't want Remi to die.
"Only one question comes to mind."
"Mmh?" Rory arched one brow quizzically, wondering what it could be.
"Do you think we'll ever make it out? Or...should we be content with this?"
Again: their cage. Rory felt his pulse slow, his breathing stop, his face freeze into a complicated expression. The cracked, dry earth, the vast sky, the jutting spire, the mutated creatures, his lean, thin, shaggy goats; it was his entire world. He knew nothing else. He had seen the quality of Isla's gloves and garb and marveled.
Was something like that out in Caido, too? After a moment, Rory cast his eyes down, once again wondering if it was truly so bad here.
"I don't know," he said, quiet and sad, part of his heart light and elated and wishing to fly beyond the borders and see what was out there—the other part scared and dark and wanting only that which was familiar, safe, home. "It's been three hundred years. I think very few of us expect to get out." The phrasing felt like betrayal. He sighed. "It hasn't stopped us from trying, though, so I guess it shouldn't stop you either."
